When I was a kid, it was immediately evident that I was the wrong person. I was supposed to be a boy named Robert. I was supposed to be blue-eyed and have curly blonde hair.
As I grew, I was even more disappointing. I was not a genius. I learned to read and write at a normal age. I couldn't spontaneously play the piano or compose witty doggerel. I was a loving child who needed affection, most disappointing of all.
I was unwanted and unloved, which was brought home to me all day, every day. I was Stupid and Clumsy and Cowardly and Ugly. I was unwelcome. Anybody could hit or kick or scratch or mock me. If I was bullied, it was clearly my own damn fault. If I tried to fight back, I was a Monster.
I escaped from that family and married into a slightly better one, though similar. I was still the wrong person, but better is better.
And then, I became pregnant. Years later, so I knew I had no idea how to be a good parent. All my "maternal instincts" were dead wrong. After all, I had learned them at the unwilling knee of the absolutely wrong mother.
So I went to the library and borrowed all their parenting books. I went online and bought some I had heard of but couldn't find. I read them all.
I talked to mothers whose kids seemed happy. I watched families at parks and playgrounds and wherever families went.
I tried to train myself to be a good mother. I knew I could never hope to be the perfect mother, but my kid, no matter what, was never going to be treated the way I had been. So I trained hard.
When my kid was born, I could not imagine looking at them and seeing someone wrong. I couldn't imagine not loving them or seeing their perfection. My kid was, and still is, Smart and Graceful and Courageous and Beautiful . . . And much, much more.
Yes, I made mistakes. Every time I wanted to react with violence or cruelty or shaming, I stopped. There were a lot of hesitations and delays, and occasionally, very rarely, I lost it. And made amends after, but no amends is better than not having lost control.
My kid isn't a kid any more. But they are still as wonderful as a person can be.
I think probably the best thing I ever did for them was to just get out of the way and let them grow into who they were. Offer support and protection and approval and a little guidance, but mainly, get out of the way.
My mom is dead, and for the last 30 or so years before she died, we had no contact. My kid was never in her life, as Mom started making things up about them before she even met them. I didn't want my kid exposed to any of that.
My kid and I have a good relationship. They grew up strong and independent. I am so proud of him. I am his Mom.
